Steels crushed again as the tiger-masked man drove his fist into the railing where Henry's head had been a fraction of second earlier.
The pedway trembled under the repeated impacts straining bolts. Henry relied on instinct but his mind stayed clinical.
Impact absorption beyond trained muscle.
That person is not ordinary, he is an impaired... Henry murmured.
He could see it was not raw wrath or anything but physical mutation layered over discipline.
The way the man's skin flexed under strain there was resistance there, unnatural tensile response.
Another strike carved through empty air as Henry slipped inside the arc of it.
He didn't remove his mask in caution.
He pivoted sharply and leapt onto the pedway's sidebar railing, balancing on the narrow metal strip for half a second. The height shifted the angle. The tiger adjusted instantly but half a second was enough.
Henry rolled off the railing in a tight aerial rotation, boots cutting through suspended dust and drove a flying kick straight into the white tiger masked person's face majestically.
The boom sound came aloud.
The man's head snapped sideways. He staggered one step, ONLY ONE!?!
He understood that these ordinary attacks aren't doing anything to him.
Henry landed fluidly and closed distance before momentum ended. The tiger retaliated with a piston-like elbow; Henry caught the forearm mid-swing, redirecting force outward with a clean parry that deflected just enough mass to avoid bone fracture.
It was efficiency without excess. Henry's palm shot forward together.
A focused strike to the center of the chest with compressed kinetic transfer aimed at disrupting breath and momentum.
It was like striking compact stone and breaking it in pieces. He did many times in training.
The tiger's torso absorbed it easily. His body jolted back half a step, stunned but not winded.
Henry withdrew his hand instantly. His palm trembled. The feedback or impact traveled up his arm like he had struck reinforced composite.
Itt was like a walking diamond. Not literally but close enough in density. The tiger slowly straightened.
Only a subtle crack splintering across the edge of the mask. He tilted his head again.
Henry flexed his fingers once, ignoring the tremor in his palm.
Diamond density didn't mean permanence.
It meant reinforcement under condition and conditions could be broken.
The tiger-masked man stepped forward again. The crack in the mask had widened slightly along one stripe.
Beneath it, Henry noticed something subtle of patterns irregular for a body that calm.
What if the mutation wasn't stable?
If enhancement was tied to adrenaline, then composure wasn't just mental. It was only a structural support. Destabilize the mind, destabilize the body.
Henry shifted tempo abruptly. Instead of calculated aevasions, he accelerated into erratic movement.
" Tough guy you are. Let's see how human you are. "
He attacked with feint layered between, low then high then disengaged entirely. Stepped close only to retreat without striking.
The tiger adjusted but half a beat slower this time. Henry leaned slightly closer during a narrow dodge, voice low enough that only the man in front of him could hear.
"How much of you is still human?"
The figure gave no vocal reply. Instead, the next strike came harder, faster than expected.
Good.
Henry slipped under it, letting the fist slam into the pedway support again. The vibration traveled differently this time in sloppier distribution of force.
"Do you remember your name?" Henry whispered during another near-contact exchange.
The tiger's breathing hitched. Microseconds but visible enough to notice.
His next lunge overextended by inches. Not enough for a novice to see. Enough for Henry to take the reaction.
If the mutation was fueled by adrenaline, then emotional disruption could spike instability. Rage increases output but reduces precision.
Henry backed toward the fractured railing again, baiting the situation.
This time, the impact against the floor sent a sharper crack through the mask and for a split second, something behind the eye slits flickered.
And that was more dangerous than strength.
Because confusion meant there was still something inside fighting for control.
The pedway had become a war drum.
Henry circled lightly calculating distance down to the centimeter. He knew the rule now of conflicts.
If that man landed a clean punch which wouldn't matter any bone. Henry was cautious at this even though he was faster. His skull would atomize if a single punch landed successfully.
This wasn't a duel of endurance. It was a duel of margins that who can outlast who.
He couldn't drag this fight across the arcology. Every impact from the tiger-masked figure sent stress waves through reinforced steel.
Another full-force strike in the wrong place could collapse a section. So he had to go closer. Closer to something that could erase him in one hit.
The tiger inhaled sharply. Then he launched forward, it punch was not wild.
It was perfect torque from heel to hip to shoulder, compressed into a single forward piston.
Henry didn't dodge sideways. He dashed forward towards the fist leaning on his face sharply.
The fist struck the pedway floor. A magnificent impact detonated like contained thunder in a small box had just been released.
A shockwave rippled outward, shattering the remaining glass panels and carving a visible crater into reinforced alloy. Dust and metallic smoke erupted, momentarily swallowing both figures.
Then through thinning smoke a silhouette stood elevated.
Balanced lightly on the tiger's embedded fist. One foot placed precisely on the knuckles lodged in the crater. The other grounded on the warped edge of steel. His coat drifted slightly in the disturbed wind like a banner settling after storm.
Henry had stepped inside the blast radius and used the downward momentum ridden of the shock.
The tiger tried to retract his arm. It didn't move easily, metal had partially deformed around it.
Henry looked down at him, eyes calm behind the mask.
"Now..." he said quietly, voice steady as still water, "...we end this."
....
From their position behind a fractured support beam, Cagaro could see the smoke bloom and collapse in the distance.
The shockwave reached them four seconds later.
Cagaro's stomach dropped. "That was him!"
Blyke didn't answer.
Through drifting haze, a silhouette stood elevated, balanced impossibly above the impact zone. Even from here, the posture was unmistakably.
Henry.
Cagaro swallowed. "He is going to die if that thing lands one clean hit with its giant fist!!"
Still no response came from Blyke.
"Why are we just standing here?" Cagaro's voice cracked under control he barely held. "We need to go. So you people let your comrades helpless like that!?"
Blyke's grits his teeth behind the mask.
"No."
The word wasn't calm this time. It was edged.
Cagaro stared at him. "What do you mean no? He is outmatched against that beast and also there are gaurds closing the ways from sides!"
Blyke spoke in low voice.
"You don't know who Henry is."
Cagaro blinked. "What? Isn't he a 4 star agent?"
Blyke kept his eyes locked on the battlefield.
"Last year," he said quietly, "the Order of the Last Hand almost tore itself apart."
The name alone felt like a cold blade sliding between ribs.
"Two candidates," Blyke continued. "Both are too approved to become the next leader. Both backed by half the continent's covert factions. Their conflict was going to fracture alliances, destabilize governments. It would have turned into a civil war that dragged entire regions into proxy conflict."
Cagaro's eyes widened. He had heard the name before back then with Henry.
"What happened there?" he asked.
Blyke's gaze didn't shift.
"They both simply... died... the same night."
Cagaro's thoughts were quarrelling inside so tough he almost forgot his heart stopped beating 10 seconds.
Then he woke up, "You are saying—"
"Yes."
The word landed flat.
"To stop the conflict... Henry killed them."
"Not in open war," Blyke added. "He removed both options so no side could claim legitimacy. The war ended because there was nothing left to fight for."
Cagaro stared back toward the distant clash. "That is—"
"Necessary." Blyke cut in. "Not heroic material you find in random comics."
Another explosion echoed faintly as metal buckled again. Cagaro felt his hands tremble now, he was having chills...
"But... that doesn't mean he can survive this situation."
Blyke finally looked at him.
"Do you know what Reverse Breathing is?"
Cagaro shook his head.
"It's a technique that forces oxygen retention past safe neurological limits. It floods the body, slows perception, pushes reaction time beyond human norms. Mister Henry told me about it earlier."
He paused at there.
"No one survives using it for more than a few minutes." Blyke said.
"He sustained it" Blyke said, voice was colder than ever, "for an hour."
The implication hung heavy in the atmosphere. Cagaro was going out of his mind.
"Not only that, after using it for one hour in battle, getting countless attacks hit on him in that state" Blyke continued,
"he endured death-causing attacks and injuries while his nervous system was collapsing."
Cagaro couldn't understand what should he say.
"He should have died." Blyke finished.
"But he didn't die. After all, he is called
'Halfmental Freak', the one who killed death."
The distant smoke thinned again. Henry's silhouette still stood there. Blyke turned back toward the fight.
"So don't confuse silence with doubt," he said quietly.
"I'm not worried about whether he survives."
Another impact thundered on the pedway.
Blyke's eyes sharpened.
"I'm wondering," he murmured, "what happens to that thing when Henry decides he is done playing. He is, the candidate for 0th star, for the next 'Atlas' of The Atlantis!!"